Fan-piece, for Her Imperial Lord

O fan of white silk,
clear as frost on the grass-blade,
You also are laid aside.

Ts’ai Chi’h

The petals fall in the fountain,
the orange-coloured rose-leaves,
Their ochre clings to the stone.

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.

As cool as the pale wet leaves
of lily-of-the-valley
She lay beside me in the dawn.

The black panther treads at my side,
And above my fingers
There float the petal-like flames.

The milk-white girls
Unbend from the holly-trees,
And their snow-white leopard
Watches to follow our trace.

Ha! sir, I have seen you sniffing and snoozling about
among my flowers.
And what, pray, do you know about horticulture,
you capriped?

“Come, Auster, come, Apeliota,
And see the faun in our garden.
But if you move or speak
This thing will run at you
And scare itself to spasms.”